


The Only Renegade Time Lords Not To Be President This Time War

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Awesome Iris Wildthyme, Community: more_politics, Crack, Farce, Gen, Romana being crazy, Time War, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Braxiatel and Romana are not president (though not for lack of trying). Meanwhile, various other unsuitable people are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Renegade Time Lords Not To Be President This Time War

**Time War: Week 12**  
It was a mark of how bad things had become that the Doctor accepted the role of President of the Time Lords when it was offered to him. Of course it might have been a joke, or another minor alien invasion, but the Doctor’s face was quite serious as he accepted the sacred relics of his office.

On one side of Braxiatel in the gallery, Leela muttered, “This is not what you said would happen.” This was perhaps a fair point to make, but not one that made Braxiatel feel any better about his continuing relationship with Romana or his sanity. He risked a glance at his other neighbour. Strangely enough, Romana (who had violently opposed the elections of the last three Presidents on the grounds that they weren’t her) seemed to be quite cheerful for the first time this week.

“I wouldn’t pin your hopes on the Doctor, my lady,” Braxiatel murmured to her under the cover of a fanfare of ceremonial trumpets. Romana raised an eyebrow and Braxiatel was forced to elaborate, “I’m afraid he seems quite sincere in his desire to be our new overlord.”

“Oh, don’t be an idiot, Brax,” Romana said without bothering to lower her voice. “The Doctor doesn’t want to be President any more than K-9 does.”

“Mistress?”

“Not now, K-9, I was just using you to illustrate a point. You don’t want to be President, do you?”

“Negative, mistress.”

“Good dog.”

“You would not allow it, mistress.”

Braxiatel allowed the corner of his mouth closest to Leela to twitch upwards with amusement.

“This is obviously some sort of ruse,” Romana continued with only a slight scowl in K-9’s direction.

“A ruse, my lady?”

“Well, obviously, he’s going to resign almost immediately and nominate someone else.”

“Someone else-?”

“Me,” Romana clarified. “Hopefully. We go back years, he knows I’m a sensible choice for President. I know he might have some residual family loyalty, but what use you’d be against the Daleks if you can’t even see an obvious ruse I don’t know.”

She waved at the Doctor, who was staring up at them like the rest of the High Council and all the other Time Lords young enough to still have their hearing. The Doctor waved back, and Romana managed a smug, “There, you see,” before the Chancellery Guards arrived to expel them from the rest of proceedings.

 

 **Time War: Week 13**  
Romana, of course, went to see the Doctor at once (i.e. once his inauguration ceremony had finished/once she had managed to talk her way out of custody). Braxiatel gave the matter a little more time to mature. He sent the Doctor a cordial (and primarily sincere) note thanking him for revoking his (and Romana’s) exile. They had managed to dredge up some mindlessly obscure and ancient piece of legislation that allowed them to remain in the capitol despite their most recent banishment, but it was a relief to have one’s status formally reset.

A day later he sent another memoette congratulating the Doctor on several of his new mandates and official actions, accompanied by a first rate brandy he had happened to have lying around.

Five days after that, he slipped out in the middle of a discussion Romana was now largely having with herself about how grateful the Monans would be to deal with a proper politician again after the Doctor’s cleverly engineered hopelessness, and went to pay his President a visit.

“Romana thinks I’m going to resign,” the Doctor told him, as he poured Braxiatel a glass of the first-rate brandy he’d been sent earlier in the week.

Braxiatel feigned surprise. “Surely not. When you’re doing such an excellent job-”

“You know, as the current president, I could easily have insincerity declared illegal,” the Doctor pointed out. He frowned, hunted for a pen, and scribbled a red annotation onto a diagram of a Dalek. “I don’t think I will, but it’s something to bear in mind before you begin your next sentence.”

“You are planning on remaining in office, then?” Braxiatel enquired. “Even if you end up president of an empty planet once the new sincerity laws are passed. I don’t mean to criticise-”

“You think they would be unpopular.”

Braxiatel smiled. “Oh, I’m sure nobody would say so to your face.” It was a slightly weak joke, but the Doctor did it the favour of grinning in a not altogether sickened manner. “As a matter of fact,” Braxiatel continued, “I do think you could be doing a worse job. I would have expected you to do worse and did until very recently.”

“I’m flattered,” the Doctor said dryly. “I’m also resigning within the week.”

The hand that had been half way to Braxiatel’s mouth with the brandy glass paused and lowed. He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Yes. I don’t think being president is really for me.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Braxiatel said. He coughed slightly. “Have you- given any thought to your successor?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been rather busy,” the Doctor said. “But whoever it is will find it hard to entirely ruin everything I’ve done already, let alone all the things I’m planning on doing before my official resignation. And I’ll leave a list of things that need to be done if Gallifrey isn’t going to go entirely to the dogs, and my telephone number. You seemed to be floundering,” he explained in response to Braxiatel’s eyebrows creeping further up his forehead. “I mean, sending me back to ensure the Daleks were never created? That was never going to work.”

“That event,” Braxiatel said, “which I believe I’m right in saying, was the brainwave of a rogue element of the CIA and never officially endorsed by that body or the High Council, took place over eight hundred years ago.”

“I’ve neglected my responsibilities to a clearly struggling planet for a long time,” the Doctor said. “I look forward to neglecting them again once I’ve set you back on the straight and narrow.”

“I see,” Braxiatel said. “Doctor, have I told you recently that you are without doubt the most infuriating person I hope ever to meet?”

“Not recently,” the Doctor said. “I thought we got on quite well in my last regeneration.”

“I dare say I was thinking it, even if I didn’t actively say it out loud.”

“Now Brax,” the Doctor said, “that sort of talk isn’t going to secure you the presidency, is it?”

“You mean to say you were just going to give it to me.”

“Probably not,” the Doctor agreed, “but you could at least try. I do admire your dedication to the sincerity laws, though, and your choice in brandy.”

“Thank you,” Braxiatel said dryly, and showed himself out.

 

 **Time War: Week 14**  
The Doctor’s sudden and largely unexpected resignation a fortnight after his inauguration left a hole at the top of Gallifrey’s political hierarchy. Rather than resigning in the official manner, the Doctor chose simply to “skip town”. He had, as he had promised, left a list detailing the next steps that should be taken by Gallifrey if it wanted the war to end a.s.a.p. At the bottom of the list there was a note in red pen that read, _“I, the Doctor, president of Gallifrey and all her dominions, nominate Romanadvoratralunda as my successor. I write this entirely of my own free will, entirely because she is the best candidate for the position and not because she’s standing over me with a staser forcing me to write this. That is merely a coincidence.”_

Darkel (who had been resurrected in Week 2 of the War) took this an opportunity to crow about the lengths Romana would go to in order to secure power for herself. The High Council, who were largely more afraid of her than they were of Romana, agreed. The Doctor’s choice of nomination was discounted and, as a bonus, Romana’s exile was reinstated. As was that of her accomplice, Cardinal Braxiatel.

Instead Darkel nominated an acquaintance of hers. The woman in question, now operating under the name “the Rani”, had been a friend of the Doctor’s at school. Braxiatel had therefore followed her actions closely, in case she turned out to be a troublemaker. Unfortunately all the evidence that his suspicions had been entirely correct had been lost with the Matrix.

Things looked very bad for Gallifrey’s political future until an old man claiming to be the infamous criminal Salyavin dropped in to see if he could offer any assistance.

“Great. Another Salyavin!” Narvin managed to scowl even more thoroughly than he had been a moment earlier. “Just what we need at this time of crisis. My office already has already dealt with three of you lunatics this year-”

The old man ignored him and hurried over to Romana who was deep in conversation with Braxiatel over the other side of the room. “There you are, my dear,” he beamed. “I’m sorry I’ve completely forgotten your name, but I seem to remember that you were president of the Time Lords last time we met.”

“Yes. That’s a bit of a sore point, actually,” Romana said.

“Oh dear. Not any more. That is a shame. I hope it wasn’t anything to do with... to do with...” he frowned, “well, whatever it was that brought us together last time.”

“Shada?” Romana suggested.

“Yes! Nasty business. Romana, that’s it. How are you? Apart from this dreadful War, of course.”

“Shada?” Braxiatel repeated. “Do you mean to say you are the real Salyavin?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Braxiatel,” Narvin sneered. “The real Salyavin has been locked away for thousands of years-”

“Oh really? And have you checked on him recently, Narvin?”

“This man is Salyavin,” Romana said. “I can vouch for him myself. He is one of the cleverest, bravest Time Lords to have ever lived, and would make an excellent President. Certainly much better than that poisonous woman.” She gestured towards the Rani, who merely raised an eyebrow without looking up from her data screen.

“I don’t think this is a very good idea,” Salyavin muttered. “These days I can barely remember my own... what was it?”

“Name, Professor,” Romana told him impatiently.

“Yes-”

“Now hang on a minute, Romana,” Darkel began.

“All those in favour?” Romana asked. The High Council all raised their hands – apparently they hadn’t been that keen on the Rani either.

“This is a parody of justice!” Narvin cried, as Romana announced,

“That’s settled then. You don’t need to worry, Professor,” she murmured to the anxious looking ex-criminal, current-President-elect. “This is only temporary. All you need to do is avoid Darkel-”

“I’m sorry, my hearing’s going too,” Salyavin said. He twisted his hat nervously in his hands. “I really do think this is a terrible idea. I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

“It’s all right,” Romana insisted. “As I said, all you need to do-”

“Good luck with the War,” Salyavin said, and then-

 

 **Time War: Week 14**  
The Doctor’s sudden and largely unexpected resignation a fortnight after his inauguration left a hole at the top of Gallifrey’s political hierarchy. Rather than resigning in the official manner, the Doctor chose simply to “skip town”. He had, as he had promised, left a list detailing the next steps that should be taken by Gallifrey if it wanted the war to end a.s.a.p. At the bottom of the list there was a note in red pen that read, _“I, the Doctor, president of Gallifrey and all her dominions, nominate Romanadvoratralunda as my successor. I write this entirely of my own free will, entirely because she is the best candidate for the position and not because she’s standing over me with a staser forcing me to write this. That is merely a coincidence.”_

Darkel (who had been resurrected in Week 2 of the War) took this an opportunity to crow about the lengths Romana would go to in order to secure power for herself. The High Council, who were largely more afraid of her than they were of Romana, agreed. The Doctor’s choice of nomination was discounted and, as a bonus, Romana’s exile was reinstated. As was that of her accomplice, Cardinal Braxiatel.

Instead Darkel nominated an acquaintance of hers. The woman in question, now operating under the name “the Rani”, had been a friend of the Doctor’s at school. Braxiatel had therefore followed her actions closely, in case she turned out to be a troublemaker. Unfortunately all the evidence that his suspicions had been entirely correct had been lost with the Matrix.

Things looked very bad for Gallifrey’s political future. However, there were no other candidates for the position (or no others even slightly acceptable to the High Council) and so the Rani was inaugurated. Darkel was triumphant, but the Rani herself seemed slightly bored by proceedings. She did, however, begin to issue orders almost immediately.

Ignoring the Doctor’s ‘How Not To Lose This War’ list, she decreed that control of the Capitol’s science labs be passed to her, and that students at the academy should submit themselves for testing at least once a week. Nothing else seemed to happen for some time.

At the request of the High Council, Narvin began investigating their new President’s activities. He reported back that she was working on ways to improve Time Lord biology, and that she had been quite shirty about explaining her methods to somebody she deemed an “intellectual incompetent.”

Braxiatel (who had, with Romana, managed to attend this meeting simply by pretending he should be there) felt obligated to point out this was a slow way to win a War that was destroying whole systems every day. Romana made a rather bitter remark to the effect that given that the Time Lords hated change, they could hardly approve of having their own bodies altered, but Darkel was adamant this was the best course for Gallifrey. Was this not exactly what Rassilon had done to their race all those millennia ago during the war against the vampires? Of course, Rassilon, himself, was currently a _persona non grata_ , too, after his recent dealings with former president, the Doctor and former president, Romana, but that didn’t mean all his ideas were dangerous and deranged, did it?

It was all quite convincing – for an explanation put forward by Darkel to explain the actions of notable criminal. After the meeting, Braxiatel went straight to Leela’s quarters and requested her help in breaking into the science department.

“Ah,” Leela said sagely, “you suspect this Rani is not what she seems.”

“Actually, I think she’s exactly what she seems,” Braxiatel told her. “Completely disinterested in us and our affairs. So why stand for President?”

“I do not know.”

“Fortunately I do. It was a rhetorical question.”

“You mean a pointless one.”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

They made it into the outer laboratories without difficulties, but as they were about to penetrate the second level Leela gestured for quiet and stalked off alone. Several moments passed, in which Braxiatel concealed himself behind a vending machine, and then Leela returned dragging Narvin by his collar.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“I could ask the same question of you,” Braxiatel pointed out, sliding out from behind the sweet dispenser. “I was under the impression you’d already thoroughly investigated this facility. Surely you don’t think you missed something-”

“Be glad I am here. At least I can give evidence that will be believed,” Narvin said scornfully. “You’d have to justify what-” He was interrupted by the noise of a door closing loudly in the outer laboratories.

“ _Hide_ ,” Leela mouthed. She took up position next to the door, while Braxiatel and Narvin both tried to take the space behind the vending machine. In the end they were both still visible when the door to their room opened and Romana stepped into the embrace of Leela’s knife.

“Leela-”

“Romana!”

“What is going on?” Romana said loudly as Leela released her. “Brax and- is that Narvin? What are you all doing here?”

“Staging a covert break-in,” Braxiatel supplied. He gestured towards the inner door. “Shall we proceed - preferably before this farce reaches critical mass?”

They slunk forward into the Rani’s inner sanctum i.e. the biology lab. There they found the President and the woman who had appointed her. The Rani was testing the reflexes of a young man of about 90. Meanwhile Darkel was midway through a rant about loyalty and what was owed to someone who had engineered a position of power for you.

Braxiatel was moments too late to cry “Ah ha!” because both Romana and Narvin had anticipated him. Darkel whirled around.

“Ah, Coordinator Narvin,” she said smoothly, as though Narvin were there on his own. “I was just explaining to the Madam President here that members of the High Council are anxious that some more immediate actions be taken in the War against the Daleks.”

“Actions suggested by you,” Narvin said grimly. “I think we all understand what’s going on here. Your puppet not playing along as you’d expected, Darkel?”

The Rani gave a short bark of laughter. “I am nobody’s puppet. Darkel was a fool to believe otherwise.”

“Don’t you dare impugn me, Madam!” Darkel protested. “I only believed that you would be a conscientious President-”

“Does that young man have gills?” Romana interrupted.

“He does," the Rani agreed. "Hooked into his respiratory bypass system. A triumph of post-biological engineering.”

“And how exactly will that be useful in the War against the Daleks?” Romana asked. “Have the Daleks developed some sort of aquatic model I haven’t heard about? Brax?”

“Not that I have heard of, my lady. And I would have heard of it, if it existed.”

The Rani scoffed. “I have greater concerns than your War.”

“The War affects everyone!” Narvin exclaimed. “It’s your War as much as any of ours – more, since you are our rightfully elected President!”

“It will pass.”

“Clearly I made a grave error of judgement,” Darkel put in quickly. “I move that the Rani be stripped of her rank and exiled immediately from the planet.”

“You are a spineless cretin,” the Rani told her. “Fortunately my work here is finished. I will simply take the boy-”

“Lay another hand on him and I will slit your throat,” Leela promised.

The Rani shrugged, “I can replicate the work,” and disappeared into her TARDIS.

 

 **Time War: Week 15**  
The next President of Gallifrey was deposed within a record two hours after it was revealed that he was not a respectable, elderly former-Chancellery Guard Captain at all, but rather the individual known as ‘the Meddling Monk’. He had taken the position merely to subvert Gallifrey’s time lines in an amusing and potentially life-threatening manner.

“Who’s going to be next in this parade of ridiculous pretenders to the sacred office of President?” Romana demanded as the Monk’s TARDIS was forcibly dematerialised. “Is the High Council going out of its way to nominate criminals, or are you just striking lucky again and again and again? If so, I am impressed. At this rate the Master will be President by Othermass.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” the current Chancellor remarked to the Arcalian Castellan.

“He is a great strategic brain,” the Castellan agreed. “And extremely ruthless. Just what we need in this War against the Daleks, I’d say.”

“No, he is not!” Romana shouted, but she was ignored.

The Master was reconstructed in the same way as Darkel had been, but where she had been reinstated in her last incarnation his was more difficult to ascertain due to his various bodily misdemeanours. The High Council were forced to entirely re-write his biology and start him on another set of regenerations with the same basic template as his first. Narvin was given the task of explaining what it was Gallifrey asked in return for this generosity. When Braxiatel caught up with him in a corridor, some time after the event, he reported that the Master had begun laughing as soon as he’d reached the word "President". Narvin had asked him to stop several times, but the Master had still been laughing as he left.

He accepted, though, of course. He even had the decency to restrain himself to a smirk until the inauguration ceremony was over. After which the wicked chuckle began again, only to be drowned out by the unauthorised sound of an elderly TARDIS materialising in the middle of the Panoptican. Romana was on her feet in an instant and running for the stairs.

“Who has arrived?” Leela asked.

Braxiatel was about to answer, but he was interrupted by the door of the Doctor’s TARDIS banging open.

“No, no, _no,_ ” the Doctor said as he strode outside. “The Master? You made the Master President? That’s not what I said at all. Didn’t you get my note?”

“You’re too late, Doctor!” the Master crowed. “The Presidency and the artefacts of Rassilon are rightfully mine.”

“They make you look like an idiot,” the Doctor told him. “Where’s Romana? I hope you didn’t murder her. I liked Romana- Oh there you are, Romana,” he said, as she pushed her way past the Chancellery Guards. “I was just saying I hoped you hadn’t been murdered.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t murdered you,” Romana told him coldly, “with a staser. Doctor, how could you?”

“It was a joke,” the Doctor protested. “Surely someone on Gallifrey has a sense of humour–”

“ _Doctor_ ,” Narvin interrupted, “you can’t just park your TARDIS-”

“In the middle of the Panoptician, even for a dramatic entrance, I know,” the Doctor said. “Romana, you’re quite right to be angry. Let me make it up to you.”

Romana’s face lit up. “By nominating me officially as President?”

“Guards?” the Master called lazily. “Take the lady Romanadvoratralunda away.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Romana warned the approaching guards. “Leela? _Leela?_ ”

“I am here, Romana!” Leela called from the balcony.

Romana scowled. “Well, that’s very useful. I suppose I’ll just have to defend _myself_ -”

“There’s no call for that,” Narvin said smoothly, stepping between them. “My Lord President, I must protest. Romana has done nothing wrong-”

“Take Narvin, too,” the Master added serenely.

“ _What?_ ” Narvin spluttered.

“His crimes are too dreadful to mention in public, but rest assured, they do exist-”

“Should I go to Romana? Leela asked Braxiatel.

“I wouldn’t bother. I’m sure the Doctor is handling the situation,” Braxiatel assured her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Doctor scoffed. “As if Narvin would ever do something as interesting as commit a crime. No offence,” he added to Narvin.

“I don’t care what you think, Doctor,” Narvin said wearily, “so none taken.”

“You don’t have ultimate power,” the Doctor told the Master. “As soon as this case comes to trial, you’ll have to let Narvin and Romana go free. So what’s the point?”

“It’s very satisfying,” the Master told him. “That, my dear Doctor, is the point of power.”

“Is it?” the Doctor asked. “Is it really? That must be where I’m always going wrong. I was under the impression it was about protecting people from the Daleks intent on destroying them. Thank you for enlightening me. Now, if you’ll excuse me everyone, I should probably be getting back to the War front. I just thought I’d drop by to tell you all you’ve made a terrible mistake and that I wash my hands of this planet from now on.”

“Stop him!” the Master called, but the Doctor was very good at running for his TARDIS and the guards were still meters away when it dematerialised. “Ah well,” the Master said, as they turned forlornly back towards him, “I’m sure you did the best you could. Ladies, gentleman, Co-ordinator Narvin, I’m afraid this is goodbye.”

“So you’re just leaving?” Romana asked.

“Indeed I am. I have no interest in being ruler of a planet as dull as this,” the Master told her. “To make matters worse, I hear we’re engaged in a terrible war with the Daleks-”

“I did tell you that when you accepted the post,” Narvin pointed out.

“Giving me ample time to plan my escape,” the Master agreed. “And enjoy myself at your expense, of course. Thank you, Narvin. I _did_ very much enjoy being your President. Now, I think this pillar is my TARDIS-” he touched the nearest stone pillar, and a door opened in its side.

There was a moment of confusion and then Narvin shouted, “For gods’ sake, _stop him!_ Are you Chancellery Guards or not??”

The Master grinned as the guards holding Narvin tried to work out who they should obey. “Enjoy your War,” he said and disappeared inside his ship, which promptly dematerialised.

“One,” Braxiatel murmured to himself, as the Time Lords in the Panoptican began arguing about what to do next. “Two,” he rose to his feet. “Three. Four.” Followed by Leela, he descended the stairs and walked past the guards, who had other things to worry about. “Five,” he said with a smile, as the Doctor’s TARDIS began re-materialising in front of him. “Welcome back to Gallifrey, Doctor.”

The Doctor stuck his head around the door. “Has he gone?”

“Indeed. Your bluff worked perfectly.”

“Well,” the Doctor began modestly.

“I assume you’ve returned to officially name someone more suitable?” Braxiatel asked, steering him quickly back in the direction of important matters, and away from discussions of his own brilliance in dealing with the Master. “Someone whose appointment might be amenable to your conscience, but who would also be deemed acceptable to Gallifrey.” He inclined his own hands slightly towards himself, and the Doctor grinned.

“That’s right, I have. You’re very on the ball today, Brax. I’m impressed.”

“I’ll call for silence,” Braxiatel said with a smile. He turned back to the assembly and raised his voice. “My fellow Time Lords - our troubles are at an end. The last two Presidents were unlawfully appointed – yes, unlawfully. For how could they assume the mantle of President, when the Doctor still wore it?” He held up his hands to quell Romana’s objections before she could begin making them. “Fortunately, he has accepted his responsibility to our planet, and has returned to surrender his position officially, and to appoint a successor.”

“That’s right,” the Doctor said, giving Brax’s shoulder a pat as he passed him onto the podium. “I, the Doctor, Gallifrey’s last legal President, do hereby resign my commission, and in my stead I nominate someone who has known me for many years, someone I trust and have trusted with my life - my old friend, Lord Drax!”

A slip of the tongue, Braxiatel thought to himself. The letters were very similar. It must be a mistake, but then the Doctor ran nimbly down the steps of the podium again and peered into the depths of his TARDIS. “Drax? Ah, there you are-” He stepped aside to let the other man out, and Braxiatel recognised the black sheep of Little Brother’s Band of Talented Troublemakers and Future Renegades. The one they had invited to join them purely so they wouldn’t have to refer to themselves as The Novum.

“All right?” the President-elect asked his assembled subjects. Braxiatel closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

“Not who you were expecting,” Romana asked from his side.

“Not who either of us were expecting, I imagine,” Braxiatel told her. “There may, however, still be time to change the Doctor’s mind...”

“I’d like to see you try,” Romana said grimly, but that didn’t stop her following him over to where the Doctor was deep in conversation with Drax.

“... the crucial thing is, not to panic. You’ve got the list-”

“ _Doctor,_ ” Braxiatel began.

“-you can not nominate this man,” Romana finished for him. “What are his qualifications? I’ve never even seen him before.”

“Of course you have,” the Doctor said, looking hurt. “Drax helped us with the Key to Time, remember?”

“It’s all right,” Drax said, “people often don’t remember me, but I remember them. How’s it going, Icicle?”

“Very badly,” Braxiatel told him. “Whether or not we remember you, Drax, the lady Romana raises an excellent point. What is your suitability for this role? What are your qualifications?”

“I’m certified to take apart practically any piece of machinery you’ve got hanging around,” Drax said jauntily. “ _And,_ ” he added, “put it back together again afterwards.”

“A mechanic,” Braxiatel summarised. “What an excellent choice of future President!”

“Exactly. He’s good at fixing things,” the Doctor said, “and, more importantly, following instructions. Now, I really do have to go, I’m afraid. As if the Dalek problem wasn’t enough, some idiots have brought the Master back to life, lost him, and turned the Rani out in the universe with a race of half-Time Lord, half fish super beings at her command, all in the same week.” He shook his head sorrowfully, and disappeared inside his TARDIS again.

Romana and Braxiatel exchanged weary looks as Drax rubbed his hands together.

 

 **Time War: Week 16**  
However, to everyone’s surprise, Drax turned out not to be a dreadful President. He followed the Doctor’s list fairly precisely, with some small modifications of his own whenever events strayed into familiar territory (Dalek-fighting space-ships). This meant that Gallifrey got all the benefits of the Doctor’s presidential decisions, without actually having to see him look smug about it. Drax’s over-familiarity with everyone and the way he used ‘me’ when he really meant ‘my’ grated on Braxiatel’s nerves, but otherwise things seemed finally to be looking up.

It was therefore somewhat of a shame that he was deposed a week later by the arrival of a certain Ms Wildthyme.

“What do you mean you’ve never heard of me?” Iris demanded when she was not immediately handed the Coronet and Sash upon her arrival.

Romana sighed irritably. “I suppose you’re going to claim you were part of our expedition to find the Key to Time as well.”

“ _No._ ” Iris tutted. “Though, now you mention it, I do think the Doctor might have asked me along. I could have been such a help to him. After all I’d only just finished scattering the Key around the galaxy for the White Guardian, but he does like to do things his own way... Bless. No,” she continued, shaking herself out of her recollections. “I stood for President as a cunning way of saving my own life after I’d been framed for the former President’s murder. And then, years later, I was offered the Presidency again after I’d defeated that dreadful Morbius, and all his Quarks and Zarbi, with the help of my other selves-”

“That was the Doctor,” Romana told her. “And ex-President, Borusa, wasn’t it? Not Morbius at all.”

Iris shook her head. “This always happens. He’s always going around claiming responsibility for things that _I’ve_ done. I would publicly expose him, but, well, I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for the charming rogue. Haven’t we all?”

“No,” Braxiatel told her before Romana could confirm or deny this. “I can, however, assure you that it was the Doctor who defeated Chancellor Goth and President Borusa-”

“Were you there, chuck?” Iris asked him kindly. “Were either of you there? I’m telling you, it was me-”

The door burst open, and Narvin stormed in. “Braxiatel, what is going on? I’ve just seen President Drax, and apparently he’s been ousted out of power by some sort of bag lady.”

“Coordinator Narvin!” Iris exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise.”

“You _know_ this woman?” Romana asked.

“I’ve never seen her before in my life,” Narvin said, looking horrified.

Iris waved this away. “That’s what they all say. But I’ve got proof. Let me see now,” she rummaged around in her handbag, “where are they? Ah – look, here’s me and the Co-ordinator, out on a, ah ha, mission together,” she proffered a photograph, which showed her own face pressed up against Narvin’s in what was unmistakably a bar. Braxiatel reached for it, but Narvin snatched it away. “And there’s one of him doing a bit of the old karaoke – he has a lovely singing voice you know. And that’s me and Panda. That’s not relevant, but,” she sighed, “it is a lovely photo of Panda. I’ll keep that one for later. Oh ho, and this is me accepting the Presidency of Gallifrey! Don’t I look glam? I don’t know if I’ll wear red next time, though, I don’t think it quite works with the sash. What do you think, luvvy?” she asked Romana.

“I think it’s very easy to forge a photograph,” Romana told her, passing the picture on to Braxiatel.

“That’s right,” Narvin added hastily.

“They’re not forgeries!” Iris said, looking shocked. “How dare you. When you don’t have any proof of your story at all.”

“We have the Matrix,” Narvin pointed out. “Which keeps records of every event in Time Lord history-”

“Or at least it did until it was destroyed, eh, Narvin?” Iris jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “Don’t worry. The universe doesn’t know. I just heard from an old friend- or should I say, paramour? I assume he wasn’t fibbing about that, too, like he always does about _my_ life-” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Whoops, that’s that secret’s out. Don’t tell the Doctor I told you. He’ll be so cross.”

“Braxiatel, Romana,” Narvin said, “can I have a word in private?” He opened the door into the corridor.

“I have the negatives, you know,” Iris called after him as he shut the door behind them.

“What are we going to do?” Narvin asked in a low voice.

Romana snorted. “What are you going to do, you mean. If those photos get out you’ll be the laughing stock of Gallifrey.”

“No more than he already is,” Braxiatel corrected silkily.

“Thank you, Braxiatel,” Narvin said sourly. “The point is not the photos of me, which I deny are real, obviously-”

“Obviously.”

“It’s that she has us on a legal technicality as regards the Presidency. We can’t prove that she isn’t the President, so unless a more worthy candidate appears within the next hour, we’ll have to give her control of the planet.”

“I’m sorry,” Romana said. “I had no idea that law would backfire so thoroughly when I forced it through.” She sighed. “I assume none of us represent a worthy candidate at this stage.”

Narvin laughed bitterly. “Worthiness has nothing to do with it. Her claim is over 400 years old. What we need is someone- Excuse me, this is a private meeting!”

“Sorry, Coordinator,” gasped the guard who had just tried to force his way past them. “But everyone’s been ordered to the Panoptican."

"For what reason?"

"Well, sir - they’re saying Rassilon has returned."

“Rassilon?” Romana repeated. “What, _the_ Rassilon? The founder of Time Lord society?”

“That’s the one!”

“Your worthy candidate, I believe, Narvin,” Braxiatel murmured as they followed the guard down the corrdior. “I suppose we should have expected this. After all if the Doctor managed to escape from the Divergent Universe, it must have been possible.”

“Rassilon is the very worst choice,” Romana insisted. “He’s gone insane with power and immortality!”

“I agree,” Narvin said, “but what can we do to stop it?”

“...Nothing, apparently,” Braxiatel observed, as they entered the Panoptician, where Rassilon was seated on a chair on the podium, wearing a new but unmistakable body and all of his most powerful artefacts.

“All hail our Once and Future President Rassilon!” Darkel cried from Rassilon’s right-hand side.

“Do you think we should object?” Braxiatel asked Romana as they and the rest of Time Lord society sank into deep bows before their lord.

“On the grounds that he’s a dangerously insane, genocidal maniac, whose best ideas were largely someone else’s?” Romana asked. She shook her head. “I think that’s just what Gallifrey was looking for.”

“Ah,” Braxiatel said wistfully. “If only we’d thought of that. We might be President by now.”

“Both of us, Brax?”

“A ridiculous suggestion, perhaps, my lady, but no more ridiculous than any of the other appointments of the last few weeks.”

Romana gave a facial shrug that turned into a smile. “I suppose that’s true.”

It was a small thing to be pleased about, but Braxiatel was pleased about it nonetheless. Perhaps, he thought to himself, Rassilon had mellowed in the Divergent Universe. Perhaps he would prove to be the right leader for the time of crisis, perhaps the War would be over by Othermass, Rassilon would resign and he and Romana could jointly assume the Presidency. Stranger things had happened – Narvin had apparently sung karaoke.

*

Meanwhile, back in Braxiatel’s office, Iris Wildthyme had finally realised no one was coming back for her.

“Oh well,” she said to herself. “It was a bit of a long shot, wasn’t it, Iris? Even for you.” And she had largely been after the Presidency because the Coronet of Rassilon was so fabulous. It would have been perfect for the surprise party she was planning to throw the Doctor for his 1000th birthday.

Fortunately, whilst everyone had been out, she’d found a very similar coronet amongst Braxiatel’s things. It was obviously an unwanted present (having in fact, been an unwise gift to Romana early in her first term of office) and so Iris hadn’t felt too bad taking it from its box and placing it on her own head to see how it looked. Similarly she didn’t feel too bad about absconding with it now.

There was some big furore going on in the main room, and Iris slunk away under cover of the fanfares towards where her lovely bus was parked in the berthing bay. It lit up as she approached and Iris cackled and leapt aboard.

“Who wants to be president anyway?” she shouted happily, and drove off into the vortex once again.


End file.
